There was a strange look on the girl’s face.
“Do you believe that?” she whispered; “do you really and truly believe it?”
“I certainly do.”
“I wish I might be sure of it.”
The strange look on the sad face of the girl deepened, and an infinite longing came into her weary eyes.
Somehow, Frank Merriwell felt that his words at that moment might have great influence on her future, and he was almost frightened by his position.
“Cassie,” he said, softly, his voice full of music and persuasion, “I believe you can be sure of it.”
“How?”
There was eagerness in her manner now, in contrast to her usual listlessness.
“Don’t be afraid to pray, if you feel like it. I am not a professor of religion, yet I have prayed more than once, and more than once, I firmly believe, my prayers have been answered.”